Rainy Monday And Memories of Hong Kong

It is a rainy dreary Monday here between the swamp and the sea, no hunting, fishing, or yard work. I watched the news until I was saturated by information, as much as the rain.

I was watching the clips of the protesters in Hong Kong, desperately trying to hang on to their little outpost of democracy in the country of China. All my time spent on the island of Hong Kong was prior to the return of the island from British rule to that of China. Makes me wonder now if the citizens of Hong Kong still think that was such a great idea.

Hong Kong means "Fragrant Harbor", and it is indeed fragrant with all the smell of Asia, both pleasing and not so much ones. I first saw Hong Kong from the flight deck of the USS Midway, sometime in the mid 1980s, the exact date now evades my memory as so many things do, I can still imagine the smells and the sights.

The following text comes from some notes I found that I made after a night of standing duty on the Midway in Hong Kong harbor.

The steam of burning grease rising from the tracks of the catapults on the flight deck combined with the rank damp smell of the harbor water, burned my nostrils like the inhalation of an acid. Looking starboard I see the flashing spectrum of lights detailing the unmistakable shore line of the city that is Hong Kong.  I remember how much I wanted to be amongst those lights, but having watch the first night in port, that was not to be.

The scene from the deck house known as flight deck control is breath-taking. Small floating craft of every description; junks under sail, ferries running to and fro, container ships, and walla walla boats bobbing up and down, sail and scurry around while being dwarfed by our mighty war ship. I think I could almost walk to shore across the decks of all those vessels, stepping deck to deck. In this great harbor which at one point in history was filled with massive creaking Chinese Junks and Portuguese sailing ships making there way slowly under sail plying their trade, in and out of one of the busiest cities of the silk road trade routes. Today space age hydrofoils and jet boats scream through the squalid, cluttered water way in route to the glittering casinos of Macau.

The great carrier moans, as she shifts heavily against the anchor holding us solidly to the muddy harbor bottom. A cold damp wind blows suddenly from the north, off the mainland of China. I shiver against the wind, and tighten the collar of my foul weather jacket, closer against my neck. Making rounds, crossing the flight deck, our aircraft sit chained and silent like dinosaur bones in a museum. As I glance to port, I see the Star Ferry crossing the harbor from Kowloon side to Hong Kong side, the clanging of her bell sounding clearly against the horns and bells of all the other assorted craft. The Star Ferry makes this trip every half hour, steadily moving passengers back and forth.

Time seems to always pass more slowly, when you have the watch at night in a great liberty port, and I grow tired. If only I did not have the duty, I know that I would be full of vigor, and be readily running the streets of Wan Chi, and the world of Suzy Wong.

Now days I wish I could stand those watches still and smell the smells of exotic ports of call in person, but at least I have the memories.

Old Captain sends.